


you can always count on me, for sure (that's what friends are for)

by shuuuliet



Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: Episode s02e13: Lights Camera...Homicidio, F/M, also the light shules tag is comparative...to my other work, also the subplot in general but we're not ready for that conversation, and they are, but mostly jules is hurting and needs her people in her corner, by which i mean to say that it means nothing, can we talk about how dumb the wrap-up of this subplot was, i mean i wrote it so obviously there's SOME shules, juliet is the glue holding the station together and yes i will die on that hill, juliet is...struggling, light shules, poor Jules, shawn tries to make her feel better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:34:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28618857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuuuliet/pseuds/shuuuliet
Summary: After Officer Pascaretti tries to file a harassment charge against her, Juliet is left wondering who her friends are, especially at the station. Luckily, a conversation with a certain psychic just might clarify a few things for her…(A more Juliet-centric approach to Episode 2x13: “Lights, Camera…Homicidio”. Because she's worth it.)
Relationships: Carlton Lassiter & Juliet O'Hara, Juliet O'Hara & Karen Vick, Juliet O'Hara & Officer Penny Pascaretti, Juliet O'Hara & Shawn Spencer, Juliet O'Hara/Shawn Spencer
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	you can always count on me, for sure (that's what friends are for)

**Author's Note:**

> Juliet’s subplot in “Lights, Camera… Homicidio” has always bothered me. And, it’s always bothered me that there’s no more wrap-up to it after her conversation with the Chief. In my head, it impacts Juliet much more than that, so I thought I’d write it.
> 
> I don’t own Psych, still. Title comes from “That’s What Friends Are For”, performed by Dionne Warwick (et al.) (1985). My working titles on my computer are often QUITE different from my final titles (which I pick only once the piece is complete), and the working title for this fic was “jules is the coolest girl in the whole wide world”, a reference to the song “The Coolest Girl” from A Very Potter Sequel (lol), which made me laugh and also seems to fit, in case anyone was interested. 
> 
> Okay, I’m done rambling now, here goes:

Juliet walked quickly up the stairs to the third floor of the police station, desperate to reach her destination, but trying to remain discrete so that no one would ask her where she was going, what she was doing, or why she looked so upset. She cleared her mind of everything except where she was going. If she didn’t think now, she had a much better chance of getting there without anyone noticing, and once she was there, she could let herself go and think about what had just happened. She hoped the way her heels clacked on the steps wouldn’t attract too much attention to her—another struggle of being a woman in the boys’ club—but at long last, she reached the landing at the top of the stairs.

The station was much quieter up here—there were only a few offices, mostly accounts payable and other people who worked independently. There were also a few storage rooms, for records and evidence of cases from long ago. But Juliet wasn’t looking for any of those things now.

No, her destination was the women’s restroom, far off the beaten path. There weren’t any women that worked up here on the third floor, so the restroom was rarely ever used, which was ideal for right now, when she needed it to herself. It was the only place in the station that she could count on having some space to breathe, somewhere she could let herself drop her smile for just a second.

Finally reaching it, she turned the lock to the main door rather than merely locking herself in a stall—if anyone came looking for it (or her), that would hopefully deter them. Sliding down the wall until she was seated on the floor (now was not the time to think about how disgusting bathroom floors were, and besides, this bathroom was hopefully used rarely enough that it wasn’t _that_ gross), she pulled her knees up against her chest and rested her head on her folded arms on top of them.

She hadn’t been sitting there longer than a second before the tears began to fall.

Why was this so _hard_ for her? It had always been hard, but today was a blow she hadn’t seen coming, and she was reminded of the many days at the police academy that had looked just like this one—her, alone, crying in a bathroom, wondering what was so wrong with her that she couldn’t seem to make friends.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t make friends in _general_ —people liked her, they always had. She’d always been naturally cheerful, generally very happy, and most people she interacted with seemed to like that. Hell, she got Christmas cards from people she arrested! But those people weren’t friends.

Though it wasn’t the first time she’d been the lone woman among many men—growing up with only brothers made her _quite_ familiar with that scenario--it had been a big deal, moving all the way out here to Santa Barbara, and most days, she didn’t regret it for a second. But then, there were days like this, when she started to rethink every decision she’d ever made. She knew, when she became a cop, that it was going to be harder for her as a woman, that she may have fewer natural allies in the station. But that was precisely why she was so eager to befriend the other women in her position—only they could understand what it was really like, and she was all about supporting other women, helping them to rise to detective like she had, if that was what they wanted.

And all she’d wanted to do was to help this newbie, let her know that there was someone in her corner in the station, someone who understood how hard this job could be, and someone who knew the particularities of this station. All she’d wanted was to be the friend at the station that she wished she had when she first started. And now, to face this accusation? What had she done wrong?

She felt humiliated, too, remembering the conversation she’d had with the Chief. She looked up to the Chief for so many reasons—in fact, Chief Vick herself was the exact kind of role model she’d wanted to be to Penny. So, to have her role model look at her like that, have to explain down to her the way that things worked for women on the force…she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so embarrassed.

And what’s more, she had legitimately believed that she and the Chief had struck up a friendship. And maybe they had, in a way—the Chief had complimented her blouse, softened the blow, after all—but it was clearly not the kind of friendship that Juliet had thought it was, and she was so tired of feeling…alone.

And that was the very heart of the matter. Yes, it was humiliating, yes, she didn’t know how she was going to face seeing Penny—Officer Pascaretti, she mentally corrected herself, since apparently a first-name basis was too chummy--again, and she was dreading her next meeting with the Chief, but at the very center of it was the fact that she didn’t really know who her friends were. Back in the academy, she’d had the same problem—reaching out to the other cadets and trying to plan hangouts, trying to form friendships, but she’d been met with the same guardedness, the same eyeroll at her attempts to compliment others and find commonalities. She’d always been made to feel like she was _too much_ for the other cadets, too eager, too excited, even the women, and she didn’t know what to do with that. She was just trying to be nice, just trying to make friends.

And so she’d spent more than one lunch break there just like this one, crying in the furthest bathroom she could find. But she’d assumed that one day, all of that would go away, that one day she’d feel truly _settled_. She certainly expected that to happen by the time she was a _detective_ , for God’s sake. She’d wanted to be here, doing exactly what she was doing, ever since she was a little girl, but she’d never imagined it would feel like this.

She buried her face in her arms again, the sobs rushing out of her. She was grateful to be so far above the rest of the station where she wouldn’t have to bother to be quiet. She cried until she started to feel a little better, until the humiliation didn’t feel quite so sharp, though she knew it was still going to sting for a while.

When she was done, she remained sitting against the wall, trying to give herself some time to breathe, to fully recover before she had to get up to splash water on her face, put her cop face back on, and get on with her day as though nothing had happened.

Even Carlton, her _partner_ , had been on her nerves more than usual. The other day, when all of this began, the very first time she’d tried to reach out to Officer Pascaretti, he’d been there, mocking her, asking if they were BFFs now, when her friendly gesture had clearly fallen on deaf ears.

“Shut up, Lassiter,” she’d said, then, taking on an unusually harsh tone with him. It didn’t faze him, though, and he continued to look amused as they walked down the hall.

The memory only served to humiliate her more, now, and she thinks maybe it’s been eating at her ever since. In fact, it wasn’t the only thing that had been eating at her this week. Subconsciously, she’d known she wasn’t having much success in the way of making friends with Officer Pascaretti, she just hadn’t realized until her conversation with the Chief just _how_ poorly things were going.

But she had told herself then, just like she would now—if she ever left this bathroom, anyway—that she wasn’t going to let it get to her, that she was going to carry on as normal, even though she felt like snapping.

She’d been annoyed with Carlton, a little bit, for a while after the way he’d teased her, but she had tried to set that aside, tried to just do her job. That day, she’d walked away in a huff, but she’d promised herself that she wasn’t going to break, that she wasn’t going to let anyone see how much his teasing—which normally wouldn’t bother her, her being used to having brothers and all--nagged at her.

It had almost worked, ignoring the growing uneasiness all week. In fact, it _did_ work, with Lassiter, anyway, and it probably would have worked in general if they hadn’t had to go to the hospital to interview a suspect. But it turned out, they couldn’t get the interview after all. He wasn’t allowed to have any visitors…except, of course, those on his friends and family list.

And therein lied the problem, she thought, thinking back on that moment at the hospital. She hadn’t let herself dwell on it then, but she remembered what had gone through her mind-- she couldn’t get the interview, she was annoyed at her partner, and she couldn’t even make a _friend_? She’d felt lower than she had in a while; no longer too much, now she felt like not _enough_.

But the final straw of that moment in the hospital had been Shawn, sitting as casually as if he’d known their suspect in the bed all his life, chatting with the nurse like they were old pals. It was so easy for him, it always was. She’d watched him do this before—with Tancana, for one, but with many others as well. People were just drawn to Shawn. Maybe it was the way he read people, maybe it was just the _presence_ he had, but he’d always been much more able to command a room than she had, and maybe it was that indefinable quality that made it so much easier for him to form friendships.

“How does he make friends so fast?” she’d mused, then. She was asking it mostly as a joke, but she couldn’t deny the uneasiness in her stomach, the part of her that was really wondering. Why does Shawn have such an easy time of this, and yet she can’t seem to do it? Here he is, barely a few days into the case, and he’s made it onto the “friends and family” visitor list at the hospital?

Thinking about that moment again now makes her embarrassment grow. Shawn was on the friends and family list, and meanwhile, she buys another woman a cupcake, and here she is with a stalking accusation. How is that _fair_?

But no answer had come to her question, not then and not now. Instead, it stayed with her, rolling around in the pit of her stomach, following her for the rest of the week. She’d managed to keep the question at bay for a while, but she knew she was going to have to wrestle with it at some point. And apparently that point is here, now, on the floor of the women’s bathroom.

By the time the day is out, Juliet is exhausted, but she doesn’t feel like going home. Somehow, rehashing her horrible day, as she knows is inevitable tonight, seems much more appealing in the company of other people, even if those people, like, apparently, everyone at the station, aren’t actually her friends.

And so she finds herself at Tom Blair’s Pub, and it’s exactly what she wanted—not too crowded, but plenty of people around; a place she can keep to herself without having to actually be _alone_.

Even though the ambience is right, she’s not sure if being at the pub is exactly the _best_ decision, but as she sits at a tall table in a corner of the pub, sipping a beer and watching the people around her, she starts to feel a little better. She wasn’t sure if she would—after all, watching a bunch of people hang out with their friends isn’t exactly an ideal solution to today’s problem. But strangely, being around the general buzz of people having a good time is doing the trick, releasing some of the tension of today (or maybe that’s just the beer) and she’s starting to feel a little lighter.

It’s there that Shawn finds her, staring thoughtfully into space. He’s pulling out a chair and sitting down at her table before she notices him. “What are you—Shawn?”

“This seat taken?” he asks, already sitting in it.

She smiles, “seeing as you’re already sitting in it…yes?”

He smirks. “Well played.” He sets his drink on the table, yellow liquid in a cocktail glass, a couple of decorative umbrellas and a pineapple wedge shoved in the top.

“What is that?” she asks, gesturing to the drink.

“Just pineapple juice,” he says, smiling fondly at it. “Wasn’t sure if I was walking into a DD situation here.”

She frowns. “Hey, this is my first beer, I’m perfectly fine. And besides, I’m a _cop_ , I would have called a cab if there was going to be a problem.”

He shrugs. “Regardless, it’s never a _bad_ time for pineapple juice.”

She smiles at that but says nothing, idly playing with the bottle in her hands. The silence between them is awkward—perhaps because Shawn is so rarely silent—and part of her wishes he would just come out with it, explain what he’s doing here (who told him she was upset?), while the other half is hoping that he doesn’t ask her how her day’s been, or why she’s sitting here all alone, in the middle of the week.

“So, Jules,” he says at last, taking a drink of his juice. “Heck of a day, huh? Can you believe you’re here, with _me,_ an actual telenovela star?”

She snorts. “Technically, since I didn’t even invite you, you’re here with _me_.”

“That’s…fair,” he agrees, nodding. “Still, what a day, right?”

“I guess,” she says, frowning. “You mean on set?”

“No,” he says. “I mean, with you.”

She frowns again. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re here, at the pub, on a Tuesday evening, by yourself,” he says. “Not exactly your usual M.O.”

She takes a sip of her beer to buy herself a second to think. No, she doesn’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not with him.

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, so he raises his eyebrow at her. “Come on, Jules, _something’s_ going on. You want to tell me about it?”

She considers again, then waves her hand. “It’s nothing.”

He gestures again to their drinks. “I’m pretty sure it’s not nothing. Or, if it is, it’s doing a very good impression of _something_. Even better than that impression I did of Lassie absolutely _blowing it_ in the interrogation room last week.”

She laughs at that, remembering. “He was so mad. One of these days, he’s really going to snap on you.”

Shawn smiles fondly. “Nah, he won’t. Lassie secretly loves me, I know he does.”

The awkward silence falls over them again, but it’s not so bad as it was before. Laughing had felt good. Shawn just had a way of making things seem lighter, even though she knew he wasn’t going to let the subject of her tough day drop.

Finally, as expected, he tries again. “So, what happened, today, anyway?” he asks. “Something’s bothering you, Jules, I can tell.”

“No, no, it’s stupid. You’re going to laugh,” she says, waving her hand.

“No,” he replies simply, looking at her, his usual laughter absent from his eyes. “I won’t.”

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s not laughing, maybe it’s how intently he’s looking at her, but she believes him. He really wants to know.

“I’m sensing this is about friendship,” he says, when she hasn’t responded. “And--,” he pauses, “just friendship, plain and simple. Not like this,” he gestures between the two of them, “which is a little something more.” He finishes by winking at her, letting her know that he was joking, but if the last two years between them have been any indication, she suspects he’s only half-joking.

She ignores the latter half of his statement, though—this isn’t the time for _that_ —and frowns at him, “how did you know that?”

She expects him to make his usual response, gesture to his head, his usual “I’m psychic” symbol, but he doesn’t. In fact, the playfulness has fallen off his face entirely, and he’s back to looking serious, taking her in, wanting to know what’s really going on with her.

“Well,” he says instead, “I noticed you saying something about friendship the other day at the hospital, and your tone seemed a little off, so I asked Lassie about it today, and eventually got him to leak some story about some new cop at work?”

“You got that out of him after noticing my tone at the hospital?” She knows Shawn is a good detective, but she’s never suspected that he’s watching her that carefully or listening to her that closely. After all, to most everyone, she’s just a junior detective, and her comment at the hospital had been so off-hand, a subconscious remark that even _she_ hadn’t thought much about until earlier this afternoon, and that her _partner_ probably hadn’t even heard, and certainly hadn’t thought anything of it if he had.

But she might’ve known that Shawn would. Shawn always took her seriously, always had her back. He’d even tried to bridge the gap between work life and personal life on a few occasions, but she’s still surprised by his genuine concern, the effort he’d taken to not only notice what she’d said, but also to follow up, not just by asking Lassiter, but then by showing up here as well.

He shrugs. “I pay attention,” he says, as if it’s no big deal. And maybe it isn’t, to him, but she can feel her spirits lifting again. She may not have girl friends, may not have the easiest time making friends at all since she became a cop, but he pays attention, and isn’t that kind of the _point_ of friendship?

“So,” he says, breaking the silence she’s unconsciously set. “You want to tell me what this is all about? Lassie wasn’t super forthcoming.”

“Carlton not giving _you_ details?” she mock-teases. “How surprising.”

“Yeah, he said there was some issue with you trying to befriend this new cop, but that was all he’d say,” Shawn says. “Well, actually, he started saying something like, ‘leave her alone and get out of our hair, Spencer,’ but I gotta be honest, I didn’t stick around for most of that.”

She nods, and for a second she smiles at Lassiter’s protectiveness—there’s a quiet sort of friendship there too, isn’t there? “Ah, I see.”

“So, what’s going on, Jules?” he asks, throwing his hands up in the air. “Who’s this new cop? Do Gus and I need to plant some evidence on them or something?”

Juliet bites back her smile. “That’s illegal and you know it.”

“For the right reason, even altar boy Gus would be on board,” he argues. She can’t stop herself from smiling at that. “He was pretty worried about you, too, after what Lassie said…well, what Lassie refused to say, really,” Shawn continues, giving her a prompting look. 

She sighs, giving in. “So, there’s this new officer at the station, you might have seen her around…Officer Penny Pascaretti.”

Shawn shrugs, shakes his head a little bit.

“She’s pretty new, so it’s likely you haven’t met her. Anyway, we almost never get new women in the station, and it’s a _hard_ job, for a woman, so I just thought I’d reach out to her, try and help her feel comfortable. It’s a new place for her, and I…I’ve been the new girl, you know?”

She looks down, hesitating for a moment. The most humiliating parts of the story are still to come. She plays with the bottle in her hands again, trying to decide how to phrase the rest of it. All the while, Shawn sits patiently, not even fidgeting, which is new for him, just waiting for her to go on.

She clears her throat. “ _Anyway_ , I just tried to make her feel seen, make her feel comfortable. I went out of my way to talk to her, I bought her a cupcake…you know, stuff that I thought was pretty basic friendliness.”

He smiles. “Sounds like the Jules I know.”

“But it didn’t go over well,” she says. “I had no idea, I just thought she was a little standoffish, maybe missing some social cues, but I guess,” she paused, not sure how to phrase the rest of it. “I guess I was the one missing the cues.”

“What do you mean?”

“She reported me,” she says, avoiding his eyes. “For—for harassment. The Chief had to call me into her office today, told me she’s going to try and talk her out of a lawsuit, but she gave me a warning.”

Shawn looks bewildered. “Wait, you mean--?”

Juliet nods, still not looking at him. “Yep,” she says slowly. “She thought I was hitting on her.”

Shawn whistles. “Wow. I’m sorry, Jules. She must _really_ have misunderstood you. You’d never try to make anyone uncomfortable like that.”

“No,” she says, and thinking about the day makes the lump rise in her throat. She swallows. “I wouldn’t.”

“Well, no wonder today was such a rough day,” he muses. “You didn’t deserve that, Jules, I’m sorry.”

She nods, accepting his words. “Thanks, it was just—a lot. I just wanted to make a friend, and I didn’t expect it to be this hard for me. I mean, what’s wrong with me that I try to make a friend and…,” she throws her hands up in the air, “it turns out like _this?_ ”

Shawn looks serious again. “There is _nothing_ wrong with you. This was all her.”

She sighs. “No, that’s the worst part. The Chief is _right_ , we have to be more guarded as women in this role; I should have known better. I just wanted a friend in the station, that’s all.”

Shawn doesn’t agree or disagree, he simply looks at her thoughtfully, considering. “So, then, your comment at the hospital…?”

She sighs, knowing no matter how this comes out, it’s not going to sound good. “It was already on my mind. I didn’t know she was going to report me, then, I just thought that she was standoffish, hard to befriend. And then I saw you at the hospital, and _you_ always make friends so easily, and I guess it just…stung a little,” she finishes, blushing as she realizes how embarrassing that sounds. She lowers her eyes, not wanting to see Shawn’s reaction to what she said.

When she looks up, though, there’s no hint of laughter on his face. He merely looks thoughtful again. “You know, Jules,” he says, finally, “I don’t think you’ve ever seen me with any friends, except Gus.”

She almost laughs. “What do you mean? The guy at the hospital alone—,” she pauses as he puts a hand up.

“I’m not talking about that. That guy’s not my friend, not _really_.”

She still doesn’t understand. “Shawn, what do you mean?”

“What I mean is,” he says, “I don’t think you’ve ever seen me with any actual friends, besides Gus. Because if I genuinely think about it, there really aren’t any.”

She sighs. “Shawn, I’ve seen you make a dozen friends a week. No one makes friends like you do. Hell, you’ve befriended our top _suspects_ several times, which is really irritating, by the way. You make friends instantly.”

He shrugs, half conceding the point. “I get along with people easily,” he says, “for the most part. But those aren’t friends, Jules. I make them my friend for a couple days, I solve the case, and then--,” he waves his hand, “Sonora.”

“Sayonara?” she asks, amused.

He smiles, “I’ve heard it both ways.”

They’re quiet for a moment, but Shawn has more to say. “My point is, Jules,” he continues, “I’ve never had an easy time of it. I never had a lot of friends outside of Gus. In school, I got by on my antics—class-clown-type stuff, you know—but I never really had a ton of people, even in school, that I _really_ considered my friends, except Gus. And Gus doesn’t even really count, because ‘friend’ isn’t even really the right word there.”

It strikes her, for just a moment, how serious he looks, how thoughtfully he’s considering what she’s said. Sincerity looks good on Shawn, and she wonders why he so rarely wears it. It just means a lot to her that he’s sitting here, listening, trying to comfort her, when he could have just teased her, or bought her another drink, or even not shown up at all. Certainly he owed her nothing; there was no reason he ought to have noticed her tone earlier, or thought to come after her, when he hadn’t even been there to realize quite how upset she was over the incident at work.

“I have Gus,” he continues, “but I have you too, don’t I? And you’re my friend, Jules, and I care about you, and I know that doesn’t take away the whole thing today, but…I mean, geez, Jules, you should’ve seen what the station was like before you.”

She frowns, “what?”

“You’ve changed _everything_ ,” he breathes, and the light in his eyes is almost frantic, like he’s about to say something he wanted to say for quite a long time, but never had come across the exact right moment.

She’s still confused, and it probably shows on her face, because Shawn continues.

“You don’t know,” he says, “what it was like, before you. What Lassie was like, what the _station_ was like.”

She smiles. “That’s sweet, Shawn, but I don’t--.”

He shakes his head. “You know how, sometimes, Gus and I come in just to hang out? I mean, not that we’re not looking to get put on cases, because obviously we always are, but sometimes we come over for smoothies, and a lot of the time I come just because I want to see--,” he stops, suddenly, looking nervous.

“To see?” She blushes as she asks, pretty sure she knows what he was going to say.

He looks down. “To see you,” he finishes, and his blush matches hers.

She looks at him, and he looks back. For a second, they just watch each other. She wonders if he can tell that his words make her want to cry.

“Look, Jules, I know it’s hard. But that station is nothing like it used to be, and that’s _all_ because of you. You’ve reformed Lassie, the Chief loves you--.”

Juliet opens her mouth to interject, but Shawn puts a hand up. “I know you had a rough conversation with her today, but it takes a lot to earn the Chief’s respect, and if you didn’t have it, she never would have gone to bat for you, never would have called you in to hear your side. She would have accepted the harassment charge as it was given because that’s serious, but she didn’t, because she knows you, and she trusts you, and like everyone else…she’s probably a little in awe of you.” He blushes a little as he finishes, and it melts her heart a little.

Juliet sighs, but she can’t deny that she’s a little moved. “In awe? That’s a little far, Shawn. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but--.”

“ _Is_ it a little too far?” He asks, incredulously. “I mean, you should see the way Buzz looks up to you. He might be an eager guy, but he doesn’t look at everyone like that. The whole station-- it’s a complete 180, and that has everything to do with you. So, don’t think for one _second_ that you don’t make friends every bit as easily as I do, and probably much easier than that. You _tamed_ Lassie. Who knew that was even humanely possible?”

She giggles, the sudden laughter making a tear spill out of her eyes. Shawn reaches over gently, so quickly that if she blinked, she would have missed it, and wipes the tear off her cheek.

“ _Shawn_ ,” she whispers, and it’s like the noise of the bar fades around them. She’s here, in this warm, happy bubble with him, and she suddenly forgets what today felt like, how hard it’s been to be a woman in the department, how many days she wanted someone to _talk_ to.

He clears his throat, but the moment doesn’t quite break as she would have expected it to. “What I’m saying, Jules,” he says gently, “is that I have Gus, but I also have you. And you…,” he trails off again, seeming to realize just how much he’s said tonight that he hasn’t said before, or perhaps marveling at how long he’s spent being _serious_ , for once.

“You mean a lot to me,” he finishes. “You’re my friend, Jules. My _best_ friend, besides Gus, and like I said, friend isn’t really the right term for him. So, I know it’s not the same, but…I hope it’s something.”

She shakes her head, trying to clear it. “Shawn, it’s…much more than _something._ ” She’s not entirely sure what she means by that, but she thinks maybe Shawn gets it, because he smiles widely at her and just nods, and again, it’s like there’s only the two of them, together in a little bubble, and it feels easy. It feels _right_.

Maybe this, like he said, is friendship…or perhaps a little more.

**Author's Note:**

> I had to make it a LITTLE shules, guys, this is me we’re talking about. But I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks so very much for reading, and, as always, I’d love to know what you think!


End file.
